My dear sweet dog Bonnie, a miniature schnauzer, is seven years old. She’s one of the sweetest, most trainable, and smartest pets I’ve ever had — and I’ve had a lot of pets over the years.

When she was a puppy, I restricted her from certain parts of the house with portable window screens; they are perhaps fifteen inches tall and expand to either side, and meant to use in windows that don’t have screens. I simply propped them at the bottom of doors; she could see through them, but she wasn’t capable of moving or jumping over them.

Not very long ago, I put one of the screens across a doorway; she’s an active adult that can jump like a gazelle, but she still won’t disturb the screen. She won’t jump over it, and she could quite easily push through it if she wanted. I assume she doesn’t, not just because she’s the world’s greatest miniature schnauzer (of course she is!), but because she’s been trained. Her mind has learned that she isn’t to go past that point.

There are other wonderful things she just will not do; she will not, for instance, get into an open dog food container, even if it’s on the floor in easy reach. She won’t jump up on dining room chairs and end up in the middle of the table. She won’t grab food and run — these are all things my previous dog did on many occasions.

Say! What a fine knee!

Long before sweet Bonnie came into our world, I was told I would need total knee replacement surgery. For years, my body and my mind have been trained in working a much narrower range of freedoms than I had before my knees revolted. In just a few weeks, I’m heading in to discuss my options with my orthopedic surgeon; after seeing my husband go through knee replacement surgery, I’ve seen how many of my fears are unfounded. I know, without a doubt, that I can make it through surgery and the tough early weeks of recovery.

What I’m not sure about is the process of overcoming the years of training my mind and body have gone through in accepting restrictions and limitations. I have actually dreamed of being young and surprised that my knees worked exactly like how they used to work; I remember one dream in particular where I ran. And it was no big deal. Running for the sheer joy of feeling my body move? That hasn’t happened since I was a teenager.

I no longer remember what it feels like to live without restrictions. Unlike my dog, I know I’ve been missing out on decades of things I haven’t been willing or able to do. Even a decade ago, when I lost a great deal of weight and was physically fit, I lived with chronic pain in my knees. I just dealt with it and worked through the pain, but there are still plenty of things I have not physically been able to do for a very long time. Simple things, like riding a bike, kneeling, climbing a ladder to get into a boat. If your knees don’t bend, those things — and many more — drift out of reach.

I have to admit that I’m both excited and a bit scared about retraining not only my legs but my brain, to move in ways they haven’t moved in decades. I know it won’t come all at once, but I am very much looking forward to a future with dancing, bike rides, and boat rides in it.

I’ve made the appointment. It’s time for the next stage of my life. C’mon, Fake Knees, take a chance on me!